


Interstice

by alyyks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, GFY, Gen, Injury, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are all the things Cody isn’t allowed to do:</p><p>1. He’s not allowed to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interstice

These are all the things Cody isn’t allowed to do:

> 1\. He’s not allowed to die.  
>            1.1 He’s not allowed to die and leave his crazy General to fumble his way out of this war without making sure there is  
>            someone fully briefed on the exact parameters of the craziness. (He’d ask Rex, but Rex has his own crazy Jedi to handle)  
>            1.2 He’s not allowed to die and leave Rex alone to deal with all their Jedi.  
>  2\. He’s not allowed to handle a battalion of B2 battle droids on his own (see reason 1).  
>  3\. He’s not allowed to follow his General thoughtlessly in battle, as Cody’s not a Jedi and cannot repel blaster fire (see reason 1).  
>  4\. He’s not allowed to drink the equivalent of his bucket in rotgut (ship-made by Hack, and a secret well-kept within the battalion).  
>  5\. He’s not allowed to go more than 35 hours without sleep, and the whole of 212th is fully briefed on how to handle him and force  
>  him to rest near the deadline.  
>  6\. He is _not allowed to die_.

So Cody holds on. He’s—not quite sure what happened in the last few minutes. _Concussion_ , he thinks. He appears to be missing some time. He also appears to be holding tight to one of the many electrical cables that had been running through the droid factory they have… apparently just finished demolishing.

There’s some blood in his eyes and blinking doesn’t clear it well enough. It’s all a little too hazy. Then he hears blaster fire, can feel it in his bones—a full scale battle, the kind they had not been supposed to get in the middle of.

The electrical cables and the material of his bodyglove don’t appear to agree with each other. It hurts, in a way that makes it clear he won’t be able to grasp anything if he lets go. So he holds on.

“Wooley?” he calls, and it takes him this long to realize he doesn’t have his helmet on. Definitively concussion. He’s hanging outside the towering rumble of a droid factory, can’t see the ground for the haziness of his vision and the clouds of dust still hanging in the air. Blaster fire keeps raging and he can’t see where it’s coming from.

Without his helmet, he still has his wrist comm. He needs one hand free, one finger, to use it. There’s blood on the cable that’s the only thing between him and a dead drop. It’s going to hurt. He’s had worse. It takes him too long to reach a decision and implement it.

Hanging on the cable with just one, blood slicked hand makes him slide several meters. He can feel it cut through some more, can’t resist a scream. When he stops only does he take a look at the other hand, the one that’s free and curled on itself and bleeding. He’d be able to hold a blaster. Firing it would be another matter.

Activating the comm is thankfully just a matter of pressing fingers clumsily against the buttons: “Cody here, could use a pick up.”

_“Hold on Commander, we’re on our way!”_

So Cody hold on, and keep holding, and live. This time.

+

The result of the battle are as follow:

> 1\. The mission objective (destroy the factory and its spaceport) was accomplished.  
>            1.1 They found some interesting droid specs never seen before  
>            1.2 Three shuttles were also found and confiscated and promptly used to get everyone off-planet  
>  2\. KIA: 26, including the squad Cody had been heading. Wounded: 104, with 27 in bacta tanks and 45 on light  
>  duty for the next three shift rotations, pending reapproval for full duty.

Cody’s on the latter’s list, and it wasn’t a concussion as much as “a really hard blow to the head” (thanks, he could have told them that) so he’s free to go as soon as his wounds get treated and wrapped.

Kenobi makes the rounds in the medbay, as he does, seeing that everyone who came back came back more or less in one piece (and sometimes not). Cody gets a shoulder squeeze, which he answers with an eye roll—that one gets him a smirk. At least his General did not get some sort of injured, shot or maimed this time.

He goes back to his berth.

He knows he reeks, he’s exhausted, he’s still coughing dust at odd intervals and all he wants is a shower. Then he looks at his lap, and the hands he’s left to rest there like they don’t even belong at the end of his arms anymore, and there’s nothing but wraps, bacta patches and numbness, wrapped in more bacta. They gave him good painkillers. He had sliced them to the bone.

When he raises his head, the armor in front of his face is streaked in blue. When he looks a bit more up, there’s Rex, in the armor.

“How much did they gave you,” Rex has the gall to chuckle, and Cody doesn’t know if he’s frowning or scowling. It pulls at the couple new stitches on his face without really hurting. Rex’s still chuckling. “More than enough apparently.”

“All I want is a fucking shower,” Cody says. Whines. Complains.

Rex’s still chuckling by the time they make it to the showers. He sheds his armor first, stashes it in one of the lockers, then he takes Cody’s off until they’re both as naked as the day they were de-vatted. Under the harsh lighting, it’s hard to ignore the vivid bruises on Rex’s.

“That has to hurt,” Cody says, to a purple-red mark wrapping around Rex’s ribs.

“Not that much,” Is Rex’s answer, steering Cody toward the shower heads. “I didn’t get shot.”

Cody hums. Almost slips on the wet tiling, if it hadn’t been for Rex’s arm under his elbow.

“You’re getting near the 35 hours mark?” Rex asks.

“No,” Cody remembers to answer. “Tired.” And it’s enough—tired from the battle, from the painkiller, from crashing, from losing blood, from losing brothers.

Rex finds them a couple of the plastic crates they’ve all taken to leave around the showers, and sits Cody down on one before he can try to slide again.

The water is hot, plentiful, and he doesn’t have to worry about keeping it to the five minutes-regulation. Kenobi’s order: after a battle, they can well fucking take a half hour in the goddamn showers. Cody’s quoting.

“What are you chuckling about?” Rex asks, and Cody’d have answered except Rex’s washing his hair (it had gone orange with dust and matted with blood) and any noise he can make is more of the “non-verbal” kind.

“Keep your hands out of the spray,” Rex says. Cody does so, and lets him do whatever he wants. It’s almost enough to send him right to sleep here and there. It’s a luxury, a gift.

“Tilt your head back,” Rex says.

“My face’s fine,” Cody mumbles.

Rex sounds like he’s smiling when he says: “That it is—you still got blood all over.”

“Mother nuna,” and still Cody complies. Tilting back though, is enough to unbalance him for a second, until he hits Rex’s body and remembers the vivid bruises too late and Rex’s already grabbing him in place.

“ ‘not gonna die that easily,” Cody mumbles.

“Yeah,” Rex says, “yeah,” and he still wraps his arms around Cody.

So Cody holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> Hack and his still are [flamethrower](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower)'s
> 
> More of all of this and clones feels at [alyyks.tumblr.com](alyyks.tumblr.com)


End file.
